


The Benefits of Working Too Hard

by Mycatissnoring



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, Its quite sweet really, M/M, Mycroft played football, not very slashy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 22:11:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5718925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mycatissnoring/pseuds/Mycatissnoring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade is working too hard, so he takes some time off to visit family. While taking his nephews to football practice, he comes across an old team photo containing a certain someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Benefits of Working Too Hard

**Author's Note:**

> My first Mystrade fic, first fic even in this fandom. Not as slashy as I was intending but still OK. I may continue this as a series, not sure yet. Anyway hope you enjoy it, constructive criticism welcome.

It was no secret that Greg Lestrade loved his job, it was also no secret that he was a workaholic. After his marriage imploded he began finding more and more excuses to stay at the office, even Sherlock was starting to notice.

“Honestly Glen it was the neighbour, even you could have figured that one out, or at least you would have, but you’ve barely been home for twelve hours since I last saw you.”

John gave Sherlock his ‘I’m certain you’re making this up’ look, “Twelve hours? We haven’t seen him in three days.”

Sherlock responded with his ‘Honestly John don’t be an idiot’ look, “Really John all you have to do is look at his shoes”.

The pair continued to bicker as they headed off towards the main road. Greg ordered his team to bring in the murdered man’s neighbour, then spent more time than he will ever admit puzzling over his shoes.

When he finally headed home that evening Greg decided that Sherlock was probably right and the long hours he was working were really beginning to take a toll. So he resolved that first thing in the morning he would resolve to take some time off.

.....

Greg Lestrade was bored, very bored. He had decided to go and stay with his sister’s family for a few days, and now his sister was at a yoga class, his brother-in-law was at work and his nephews were at school, so the only one Greg had to keep him company was Nigel, the family goldfish.

As Lestrade stared blankly at the little orange fish he decided, not for the first time, that maybe being a workaholic wasn’t so bad, and that maybe he should have just taken a nap instead of a holiday.

The beeping of his phone snapped him out of his musings, he dug it out of his pocket and was surprised to see a message from his sister.

'Somethings come up and I won’t be home ‘till late, could you take the boys to football practice?'

'Sure thing, you ok?' 

'It’s nothing serious, just helping out a friend.'

'Ok, I’ll catch you later.'

So an hour later Greg was no longer sitting in his sister’s house staring at Nigel, he was now sitting in a local football club staring at a bunch of young boys kick balls to each other. At least the kids were having fun.

He decided to look around the club. There wasn’t much to see, mostly just pictures of old junior teams on the walls. He was about to wander back outside when something caught his eye, one of the faces in a photo of the 1980 under twelve team. Greg leaned in closer, it couldn’t really be him, could it?

Row 3: Arnold McCoy, Jason Fisher, Mycroft Holmes…

Greg couldn’t believe his luck; that pompous git was always bossing him around, and here he was, a tubby freckle faced eleven year old. Greg grabbed the picture off the wall and walked over to the lady on reception.

“Excuse me, but a friend of mine is in this photo, is there any way I could get a copy?”

The woman looked surprised by the question, “Um, I don’t see why not, if you just give me a minute I’ll be happy to photocopy that for you”.

Greg grinned as he handed over the picture, “Thanks very much”.

.....

Lestrade hadn’t been back home for more than an hour before the sleek black government car pulled up next to him as he left his flat to pick up some food. He quickly raced back inside to grab the copy of the picture before happily joining Anthea in the back seat.

As he entered Mycroft’s dimly lit office at the Diogenes, Anthea on his heels, he couldn’t stop a mischievous grin from forming on his face. Mycroft took one look at him and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Anthea, leave us.”

Without a word Anthea slipped silently out of the room, leaving the suspicious government official trying to determine the source of the DI’s childish glee.  
“Well Mr Holmes, what can I do for you today?”

Mycroft gave him one last suspicious look before answering, “You have taken time away from work”.

“Yes and?”

“And in that time my brother has broken into my house four times, stolen two government vehicles and poisoned five, yes five, of his own neighbours, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I’ve only been gone three days.”

Mycroft sighed, “My brother can be very efficient”.

“What do you want me to do, I still have the rest of the week off.”

“Give him a case, any case, I doubt he’ll be too picky.”

Greg fished out his phone and texted Donavon to give Sherlock access to some cold case files, he paused for a minute, then sent another text specifying cold case murders and she should send them immediately. Satisfied he turned back to Mycroft.

“I’m having some cold cases sent over, that should keep him occupied for a while.”

“Thank you Detective Inspector, I’m sure you can show yourself out.”

Ignoring the obvious dismissal, Greg stayed where he was. Mycroft looked up when he noticed that he wasn’t moving.

“Is there anything else I can help you with Inspector?”

The DI’s grin widened, “Oh just one little thing Mr Holmes. What do you think of football?”

Mycroft looked baffled at the question. “Football?”

“Yeah football.”

“I am afraid I have never been very interested in the sport, may I enquire as to why you are asking?”

“Well it’s nothing really”, he said as he pulled a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket, “I was just visiting family recently, and I came across something you might be interested in.”

As Greg unfolded the page in order to show the older Holmes brother, the look on Mycroft’s face morphed from confusion to a dawning realisation and horror, before the emotionless mask of the iceman slipped back into place.

“Come on now you can’t fool me with that whole ‘iceman’ act, I know for a fact that you do have a heart.”

“Whatever you may think you know Detective Inspector, I assure you, you are entirely mistaken.”

Greg just smiled, “So you never played football? And this just happens to be a photo of another Mycroft Holmes, who looks just like you?”

Mycroft seemed to be struggling to form an answer. “I ̶ admit I may have played football in my youth.”

Greg’s smile widened, “You don’t have to be shy, look at how adorable you look, with your freckles and your chubby face, those are the sort of cheeks any grandmother would love to pinch”.

At this point Mycroft’s cheeks were tinged with red and he seemed to be having trouble making eye contact. Greg on the other hand was enjoying this immensely.

“So the great Mycroft Holmes used to play footie, how on Earth did that come about?”

Mycroft cleared his throat before replying, “My parents believed it would be good for me to participate in the sport, they thought the team environment might help me to ‘come out of my shell’ as it were”.

Greg looked at Mycroft fondly, “And how come a man with your resources didn’t have all evidence of those youthful sporting endeavours vanish without a trace?”

Mycroft gave the inspector a withering glare, “I assure you my position and abilities have been grossly exaggerated by my brother”. He paused, “Also I was not aware any copies of that photo remained”.

“After you had them all hunted down?”

A tilt of the head, “Perhaps”.

The detective thought for a moment, “I tell you what, I’ll give you my copy on one condition.”

“Lestrade I do hope you’re not trying to blackmail me.”

Greg laughed at that, “Not quite. I will however give you my copy if you agree to have dinner with me”.

A raised eyebrow from Mycroft, “Are you asking me on a date?” He said the last word as if it was foreign to him.

The detectives smile faltered a little, “Well yeah, but only if you want to, I mean, no pressure.”

There was a pause and Greg was sure Mycroft was trying to think of a way to let him down gently when a brilliant smile formed on the iceman’s face.

“Gregory, it would be my pleasure.”


End file.
